


You'll See the Line (That's Drawn Between Good and Bad)

by Potrix



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has a Shitty Day, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Cute Ending, First Dates, Flashbacks, Getting Together, Happier Than It Sounds, Happy Ending, M/M, Nightmares, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Prostitution, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark: Defender of Sex Workers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has a shitty day, but nothing short of a nuclear apocalypse will prevent him from going on his date with Tony. Maybe not even that. Bucky’s stubborn like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll See the Line (That's Drawn Between Good and Bad)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a combination of prompts over at [imaginetonyandbucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com):
> 
> "One of the boys has a really fucking shitty day, but they're determinedly cheerful, cause tonight's their first date!" and "Imagine Bucky having just the shittiest day and Tony did something silly or nice (either on purpose or not) that immediately brightens Bucky’s day and that’s when he realized holy shit he’s in love with Tony Stark."
> 
> I decided to throw in some things from Bucky's past, because why not?
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> (Title from [Child In Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PfAWReBmxEs) by Deep Purple. And no, this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I've just seen them play on Monday. *shifty eyes*)

Bucky wakes up screaming, frantically trying to kick off constricting, sweat-soaked sheets, heart beating painfully fast against his chest, throat raw, and head pounding with the beginnings of a post-nightmare headache.

It’s not the first time Bucky’s starting his day like this, and it definitely won’t be the last either, so he fully expects the knock on his door and the concerned, “Buck?”

“Fine,” Bucky manages to croak, clearing his throat before he goes on with, “’M fine, Stevie.”

Steve’s hesitation speaks volumes on how easily he sees through Bucky’s bullshit, but he’s also known Bucky long enough to be perfectly aware of when pushing won’t do either of them any good. “All right, if you say so,” Steve says, making it abundantly clear that they’ll have words about this eventually. “Can I get you anything?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Bucky sighs, rubbing a trembling hand through his hair. A quick glance at the alarm clock, then, “Go on, get out of here. Aren’t you late for your run? Don’t keep Sam waiting just ‘cause of me.”

“I’m leaving a mug of warm milk with some honey on the counter for you,” Steve informs him, in that tone that suggests Bucky better drink it, or else. “Take care of yourself, all right?”

“Jeez, Rogers,” Bucky grumbles, half seriously annoyed and half faux-cheerful. “You’ll be gone for an hour, an hour and a half tops. I survived seven decades under HYDRA, ‘m pretty sure I won’t accidentally kill myself while you’re out.”

“That’s not funny,” Steve says, like he does every single time Bucky tries to make light of his past as the Winter Soldier, his disapproving frown practically audible, but he does leave after another reminder to call or text should Bucky need him.

Bucky waits until he hears the front door close and lock, then he gets up and drags himself into the bathroom, letting the almost scalding water wash away the ugly, unwanted memories. And it works, soothing his frayed nerves and settling his queasy stomach, right up until he’s standing four floors up in the communal kitchen and Bruce startles him by asking if he wants a cup of tea.

The plate Bucky’s holding clatters to the floor, breaking into a dozen pieces, and Bucky is under the table before he knows it, arms curled around his head protectively, panting hard. The logical part of Bucky’s brain knows there’s no threat, that Bruce didn’t mean to sneak up on him, but Bucky’s instincts are telling another story entirely, yelling at him to find cover, to hide. 

It takes Bucky a while to calm down enough to notice the cup of steaming tea sitting on the tiles a couple of feet away from him, guilt and embarrassment slamming into him at the realisation that Bruce has not only witnessed his freak-out, but also gone and still made him the tea, despite everything.

“Hey,” Bruce says from the other side of the room, the breakfast bar between them not as, Bucky suspects, protection for Bruce, but to make Bucky feel safe. Bruce is nice and considerate like that. “Do you want me to get Steve?”

Bucky quickly shakes his head, pulling the cup closer and taking a sip. Camomile. Focusing on the taste lingering on his tongue to anchor himself in the present, Bucky musters up a not very convincing smile, if Bruce’s concerned frown is anything to go by. “No, don’t worry ‘bout me, I’m okay. Jus’ give me a minute and I’ll be as good as new.” 

Bruce seems sceptical, so Bucky widens his smile and, belatedly, crawls out from his hiding spot, joining Bruce at the bar. “Really, it’s fine. Wasn’t your fault. Thanks for the tea.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce says after a long moment of assessing silence, turning back to the omelette he must have started during Bucky’s little episode.

They eat and talk, Bucky staying focused on Bruce’s story instead of letting himself drift like he wants to, determinedly refusing to acknowledge the steadily growing knot of tension in his stomach. He doesn’t have time for this, not today of all days. 

He makes his way down to the gym after breakfast, regretting that decision the moment he steps through the doors and hears Natasha snapping at Clint in Russian. Her tone is very obviously teasing, fond even, but the language alone is enough to make Bucky twitchy.

Not that that’s enough to keep him from climbing into the ring for his and Tasha’s daily sparring session, although he should really have known better. He blocks the first couple of her jabs, momentarily distracted from his reeling thoughts and pending headache by the very real effort he has to put into it, but then she catches him in the ribs with a kick, and Bucky knows it’s over.

Ignoring her and Clint’s worried looks, Bucky plasters on an expression he hopes will reassure them, mumbling a somewhat unsteady, “Thanks, see you later,” and stumbles out of the workout area, breaking into a run as soon as he’s out of view, and making it to the closest bathroom just in time.

He brings up his entire breakfast, retching and coughing and spitting, while pushing back the images trying to take over; snow and cold and _бороться, солдат_ , a tiny red-haired girl with blood on her hands and fear in her eyes.

Bucky’s day only gets worse from there.

Another shower is out of the question, the ghost sensation of freezing water and intrusive hands roughly scrubbing him clean too sharp now, meaning he has to wash himself with a cloth and the bottle of hand soap sitting on the sink. While preparing lunch, he burns his hand badly enough that he fears it will actually scar, losing a couple of minutes until he remembers that he won’t be punished for being careless. The subway on the way to his therapist’s office is packed, people brushing against and bumping into him from all sides, so he isn’t even surprised anymore by the flashback halfway through his appointment.

The only reason Bucky doesn’t immediately lock himself away in his room and say _fuck it_ to that afternoon’s press conference is the date Tony’s going to take him on after. And Bucky has waited long enough for that, has spent months in that maybe, maybe not territory before he’d finally felt ready to say yes when Tony had asked him out. Nothing short of a nuclear apocalypse will prevent Bucky from going on that date. Maybe not even that. Bucky’s stubborn like that.

There are only around two dozen people present, making Bucky relax a little, and it’s mostly Tony and Steve as the team leaders who do the talking. Bucky gets a couple of mostly mission-related questions, one or two about his general health, which he’s able to answer easily enough, much to his relief.

But then someone stands up, recorder pointed at Bucky and chin jutted out challengingly, and Bucky’s stomach sinks even before the man starts talking. “Sergeant Barnes, my research has brought up some, shall we say, _interesting_ information concerning your work history prior to your enlistment in the US Armed Forces. I have come across paperwork implying that you were taken into custody, released without any charges pressed, in the winter of nineteen thirty-seven after being picked up in an area frequented by men seeking sexual favours from other men in exchange for money. Sergeant, would you like to clarify? Did you engage in such activities?”

“I- I-“ Bucky stutters helplessly, feels Steve tense next to him but is too afraid to actually check and see what look Steve’s got on his face. Bucky’s been teetering on the brink of overwhelmed disassociation since getting up that morning, he knows he’s not supposed to lie during official appearances with the Avengers, and everything’s happening incredibly fast, so when the reporter demands to know if Bucky’s denying the allegations, Bucky croaks out, “No. No, I’m not.”

The room goes dead silent for a long moment, then explodes in a flurry of questions, none of which properly register with Bucky, who’s busy enough just breathing and not letting his mind slip away completely. Which he’s not really successful at, because when he blinks himself back into the present, he’s in the back of one of Tony’s limos, clutching one of Tony’s hands between both of his.

Glancing up, Bucky’s startled and a little confused to find Tony smiling at him. “Hey, darling,” he whispers, giving Bucky’s flesh hand a gentle squeeze. “You back with me?”

“Yes,” Bucky breathes. Then, “I’m sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault, Buck,” Tony says, reassuring and calm. “That wasn’t a pre-approved question, he had absolutely no right asking it. And we’re going to sue the shit out of him, you can count on that. If enough of him is left after Steve’s done with him which, going by Cap’s expression when we left, I wouldn’t be so sure about.”

“No, I-“ Bucky says, clearing his throat and trying to swallow around the painful lump in it. “The other thing. Sorry about that. It’s not- I- I didn’t even have a reason, y’know? I just. I wanted some extra money, to treat myself. Buy art supplies for Steve, some chocolate for me, a beer every now and again, stuff like that. And sex, it- it was somethin’ I was good at. Somethin’ I liked doing, so I did it. ‘M sorry.”

One of Tony’s fingers hooks under Bucky’s chin, forcing Bucky to look over at him. “You think I’d prefer it if circumstances had forced you into selling yourself?” he demands, not angry, more honestly curious. Bucky considers that, then shakes his head because no, that doesn’t sound right. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about, do you hear? You decide what you do with your body, and why. Only you. You know that, right?”

Bucky nods. “I know.” He hadn’t, not for a long time, and it had taken a lot of convincing from a lot of people, but he does now. “Still sorry.”

Tony sighs, his smile turning a little sad. “Honey, I’ve been with too many escorts and prostitutes to look down on the profession,” he jokes, bumping his shoulder against Bucky’s and grinning when Bucky manages a chuckle. Then he turns serious again. “Not that I would anyway. Do you know how high the rates of sexual violence are, how often sex workers get assaulted? And how many of those incidents get swept under the rug, like they’re nothing, like the victim isn’t worth the effort and time it takes to write a fucking report? Sorry.” He rubs a hand over his face, laughing sheepishly. “Got carried away there. What I’m trying to say is that you didn’t do anything wrong in my books. Not that it’s my place to judge, but I’m not. Judging you. I mean, full disclosure here, I would be so, so jealous if you wanted to do it again-“

“I don’t!” Bucky interrupts quickly, closing his mouth again at Tony’s pointed look.

“I’d be jealous, and I don’t know if I could do it, be with someone who’s having sex with other people for a living, but that’s on me. It’s not for me to choose what you do and don’t do. Only you can do that, okay?”

“I don’t want to do it again,” Bucky says, absently playing with Tony’s fingers. “I liked it, back then. For the most part. An’ I had Steve, the couple of times things went wrong, to patch me up and tell me what a reckless idiot I was. But eventually it didn’t feel right anymore, so I stopped. And I don’t want to do it again. What I wanted is to go on a date with you, have a nice evening out. And I ruined that.”

Tony clucks his tongue, making a dismissive sound in the back of his throat. “You didn’t ruin anything, beautiful,” he says, stepping out of the car when the driver walks around to open the door for them, holding out his hand to help Bucky out as well.

Bucky doubts that, since they’re back at the tower and not at a restaurant, but he lets Tony lead him across the lobby to the elevators, content to lean into Tony’s side and enjoy the feeling of Tony’s arm around his waist.

They go right past the communal levels as well as both Tony and Bucky’s floors, but Tony just waggles his eyebrows and hums when Bucky asks where they’re going. When the doors finally open, they reveal the roof garden, but not looking the way Bucky remembers it.

There are fairy lights twinkling down from the roof of a small pavilion, a mattress piled with pillows and blankets underneath it, and a tray with several steaming bags from Bucky’s favourite diner standing a little off to the side.

“The restaurant didn’t seem like a good idea anymore, not with everyone out to get a piece of you tonight,” Tony says ruefully, lifting Bucky’s hand to press an apologetic kiss to his knuckles. “But we can have burgers and milkshakes anywhere, right?”

Speechless, Bucky just nods, smiling goofily as he follows Tony over to their little nest, cuddling up close to Tony under one of the blankets, heart full to bursting with what he’s shocked but happy to realise is love.

Maybe, Bucky thinks as Tony feeds him a fry, this day isn’t all bad, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works) or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/).


End file.
